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That finging up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings, and in your notes His praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and fately tread, or lowly creep ;
Witness if I be filent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh fade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise.

Hail, universal Lord ! be bounteaus still
To give us only good; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceald,
Disperse it, as now light difpels the dark.

Hence, loathed Melancholy!
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and thrieks, and fights unholy.

Find out some uncouth cell,
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,

And the night-raven fings ;
There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks,

As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian defert ever dwell.

But come, thou Goddess, fair and free,
In Heav'n yclep'i Euphrofyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth,
With two fifter graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bare.
Or whether (as some fages fing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,

Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a maying,
There on beds of violets blue,
And freth-blown roses wath'd in dew,
Filld her with thee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jeft and youthful Jolity,
Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple Ncek;
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter, holding both his ades
Cume, and trip it, as you go,
On the light fantastic tue ;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty ;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-tow'r in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rife;
Then to come in spite of sorrow,
And at iny window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twifted cglantine :
While the cock, with lively din
Scatters the rear of darkness thing

And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly ftruts his dames before :
Oft lift’ning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the sumb’ring morn,
From the fide of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing thrill:
Sometime walking not unseen,
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great fun begins his state,
Rob’d in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman near at hand
Wbifles o'er the farrow'd land,
And the milk-maid fingeth blithe,
And the mower whets his fithe,
And ev'ry shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilli the landscape round it meafures ;
Rafiet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling locks do stray,
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The lab'ring clouds do often reft,
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide :
Tow'rs and battlements it sees,
Borom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps fume beauty lies,
The Cynofure of. neighb'ring eyes.
Hard by a cottage chimney smokes;
From betwixt two aged oaks,

Where Corydon and Thyrfis met,
Are at their favoury dinner set
Of herbs and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses,
And then in haftė her bow's the leaves,
With Theftylis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,
To the tanna hay-cock in the mead.
Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecs found
To many a youth and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd Thade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holy-day,
Till the live-long day-light fail;
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How fairy Mab the junkets eat;
She was pinch'd and pulld, she said;
And he by frier's lanthorn led ;
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat,
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy fail hath thresh'd the corn,
That ten day-lab'rers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
And stret h'd out all the chimney's length,
Balks at the fire his hairy ftrength,
And crop-full out of doors he flingsa
Ere the first cock his matin rings.

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whisp'ring winds foon lulld afleep.
Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With ftore of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace whom all commend.
There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe with taper clear,
And Pomp, and Feast, and Revelry,
With mask and antique pageantry;
Such fights as youthful puets dream
On faminer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Johnson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verlé,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetnefs long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes runding;
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The bidden foul of harmony;
That Orpheus' self may heave his head
From golden Nuinber on a bed

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